


Cats are Colorblind!

by PetitMinou



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Blind Character, Blind Spots AU, F/M, Identity Reveal, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-06-08 01:40:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6833590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PetitMinou/pseuds/PetitMinou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adrien's been blind his entire life, but that doesn't mean he can't see the similarities between his two best friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cats are Colorblind!

**Author's Note:**

> It's [Alex's](little-eclipse-kitten.tumblr.com) birthday today. She loves the blind spots AU and face touching. Have some fluff!  
> This AU was originally come up with by [qookyquiche](qookyquiche.tumblr.com), [laundromatic](laundromatic.tumblr.com), and [girlwithribbon](girlwithribbon.tumblr.com) on tumblr, and I was heavily inspired by [skaylanphear's](skaylanphear.tumblr.com) wonderful drabble of the same AU (I think I took it a different direction, but I deliberately avoided reading the whole thing to avoid too much influence. Now I can go finish that, yay!)

Adrien makes his first friend on the second day of school. He’d heard the thunder and rain from inside, of course, but he hadn’t bothered to bring an umbrella that morning. There’s no way he’s going to wait at the door for his bodyguard to come fetch him, so he sets out into the rain.

By the time he’s made it down the third step water has soaked right through his hair to chill his scalp, and he wrinkles his nose in distaste. No going back now.

He gauges the distance down to the next step with his cane—and rapid, light footsteps hurry up behind him. He tenses instinctively, anticipating the well-meaning hand on his elbow as someone decides he can’t get around by himself—but it never comes.

Instead the footsteps patter to a halt next to him, and it’s _Marinette’s_ voice at his side. “Hey, um…do you want an umbrella?”

It’s a total change of tone from earlier, and his mouth hangs open for a second.

“I mean, it’s fine if you don’t, you just looked so cold, and—“

“No, an umbrella would be great, thanks.” He holds out his left hand and she sets the handle against his palm. They continue down the stairs in silence, but even over the pounding of rain on fabric he’s hyperconscious of her footsteps beside him.

Well, now or never.

“I thought you didn’t like me,” he says bluntly.

She chokes a bit, stumbles. “Yeah, well, I might have been a little judgmental. I thought you were friends with Chloé and we…don’t get along.”

They reach the bottom of the steps, and he could easily have sped up. Instead he dawdles, thrilled when she matches his slow pace. “Well, Chloé can be a bit abrasive.” He laughs self-consciously.

“I don’t like the way she treats you.”

He actually does trip over a crack in the sidewalk in his surprise. “What?”

She seems to consider her answer for several steps. “She treats you like you’re helpless, and you’re obviously not. I don’t like it.”

“O-oh.” He has no idea what to say to that, but he’s saved from answering by a nearby car door slamming, and the distinctive heavy footfalls of his bodyguard. “That’s my ride. Here.” He offers her umbrella back, hoping his shiver isn’t too obvious when their fingers touch. “And thanks.”

There’s a smile in her voice when she answers. “Anytime.”

He manages to contain his goofy grin until he’s in the car, and Plagg’s slight weight lands on his shoulder. “Someone’s in love!”

He doesn’t bother to deny it, laughing at the ensuing gagging from his Kwami.

* * *

He’s a bit unsure through the first few missions as Chat Noir. True, his heightened senses allow him to navigate the city with ease, but he constantly worries. What if he just misjudged that jump? What if the sound he’s aiming at is coming from innocent civilians? Plagg assures him that he wouldn’t let his charge do anything like that, but Adrien still frets.

It’s Ladybug that snaps him out of it. _She doesn’t realize._ He can tell from the way she talks. “Chat Noir, you get the blue car, and I’ll get the red!” or, “look, up there!”

She treats him exactly the way everyone else has been treated around him his entire life. Even if it leads to the occasional misunderstanding—(“Which blue car?” “The one right in front of you, chaton!” “Cats are colorblind, my Lady!” “No, they’re not.”)—he’s not about to give this up.

She doesn’t pity him, she doesn’t baby him. She treats him like an equal.

And what’s more, so does everyone else. No strangers try to lead him around, no one asks what happened to him in that sad tone of voice. For the first time in his life he’s treated like a person, not a broken object, and he revels in it.

* * *

Marinette’s company is also a blessing. He stops going home for lunch, instead joining her in the park outside their school. Alya frequently tags along, but since she monopolized Marinette’s time outside of school, Adrien doesn’t feel too bad about stealing away her best friend once in a while.

Marinette occasionally warns him of things—“Careful, there’s a branch in front of you,” or, “Don’t step there! That’s the biggest piece of gum I’ve ever seen…”—but she seems to understand that he’s perfectly capable of taking care of himself.

And he can trust her to be honest with him.

“Do they really photoshop my pictures?” he asks absently, tilting his head back to let the warm sun caress his cheeks.

She gives a considering hum, then he jerks when warm breath brushes his face. “Sorry, getting a closer look.”

He doesn’t respond, far too preoccupied with the thought of _just how close_ her face must be. Finally he hears the rustle of clothes that means she leaned away. At about the same time he realizes he’s forgotten to breathe since she got so close. He tries not to gasp on his inhale too much, which is harder than it should be because _she smells like vanilla and sugar_.

“They do photoshop you a little bit. They make it look like your eyes are focused on the camera, or on something in the picture.”

He shifts, not entirely sure he’s comfortable with this new knowledge. She scoots over until she’s pressed against him, lets him work out his thoughts in silence.

“Does it bother you?” he asks abruptly.

“Does what bother me?”

He leans forward, trying to aim his useless eyes at where he estimates her face to be. “Does it bother you that I don’t look at you when you talk to me?”

She laughs, uses a finger on his chin to turn his head. “Please don’t do that, it’s a bit creepy.”

A sad little noise escapes him, and her hand slides down to pat his shoulder. “Sorry, but it is. It never bothers me when you don’t look at me. It’s obvious you’re paying attention.”

Chat Noir would have had something flirty and charming to say to that, but _Adrien_ just sits back, a slight smile on his face.

* * *

“You can’t ship Ladybug and Chat Noir!” He doesn’t mean to sound so offended, and Marinette elbows him in the ribs.

“Why not? They’d be great together.   And besides, it’s so obvious that Ladybug’s into him.”

He hums, unconvinced. “Are you sure?”

She giggles, shy for reasons beyond his comprehension. “Yeah, pretty sure. But who wouldn’t be? Have you _seen_ him in all that tight leather?”

“No,” he responds, deadpan.

“Don’t be a smartass,” she scolds good naturedly, and he’s too confused to complain.

She is checking _him_ out in tight leather, even if she doesn’t know it’s him. But that’s the problem. She doesn’t know that Chat Noir is blind. No one does. Adrien Agreste is a super model, model student, one of her best friends—but he’s _broken_. He can’t ever measure up.

But then she leans into him comfortably, muttering something about how late she was up with homework, and he sighs.

Even if she’ll never feel the same way he does, he’s not going to do anything to risk their friendship.

* * *

“What do you mean your crush doesn’t feel the same way? Are they blind?”

Marinette snorts and elbows him for the bad joke. “Dork. It doesn’t matter. He’s…amazing. I couldn’t ever compare.”

Adrien ignores the hot flash of jealousy behind his eyes, fiddling with his cane. “That’s silly. Anyone who’s not head over heels for you has some serious issues.”

“Be nice,” she chides, but he can hear the smile in her voice. “Besides, how would you know?”

He clutches his chest, gasps in mock hurt. “You wound me. But it doesn’t matter what you look like. Seriously. I doubt he hasn’t actually noticed you. He probably just has no idea what to do with his crush.”

 _Not that I’d know anything about that,_ he adds silently.

She makes a disbelieving noise, and he kicks her lightly. “Fine, you don’t have to believe me. I could, I mean, I…” He cuts off, shifting awkwardly.

He’s never actually had to _ask_ this before. He’d memorized his parents’ faces as a toddler, and he’s far more familiar with Chloé’s features than he wants to be. But how do you bring that up? ‘Hey, I want to put my hands all over your face so I have some idea what the girl I have a hopeless crush on looks like’?

Yeah. No.

Marinette waits for him to gather his thoughts for several seconds before she nudges him. “You awake there?”

“Yeah!” He jumps guiltily, tries to hide his nerves.

Ah, screw it. “There’s a way I can see you, if you’re okay with it. I can…if I touch your face then I’ll know what you look like.”

Marinette’s silent for long moments, and he can feel his cheeks heating in a blush. “If you don’t want me to, I can—“

“No, it’s fine.” She laughs, a bit shaky. “It just makes me a little nervous. It’s like…letting someone you’ve been talking to online see your face for the first time. What if you don’t like what you see?”

He scoffs. As if that could ever happen.

He offers up a hand for her to take, and she gently guides him until his fingers meet the skin of her cheek.

Oh, wow. Oh, _crap._ He’d thought her _hands_ were soft. He reaches up to cup her other cheek, thumbs stretching until they meet the sides of her nose, trace it down to her lips. Plush, soft, they part beneath his touch, and he rapidly moves on before he can say anything embarrassing. Lower, to a round chin and delicate jawline, then back up to tap lightly at her small button nose.

She giggles, and he can’t resist tracing the corners of her smile, imprinting it in his mind.

Last he trails his fingers up to the fragile skin just under her eyes, long lashes fluttering against the tips of them.

“Marinette, what color are your eyes?” He doesn’t really mean to whisper, but this moment feels so _intimate_ , and he wonders if the slight catch in her breath means she feels the same way.

“Blue,” she breathes back, just as quiet, and now he’s _definitely_ blushing.

He coughs, removes his hands back to his own lap. “Well, in my professional opinion as a heterosexual man—“ she snorts—“you’re beautiful, and anyone who thinks otherwise is wrong.”

She leans into him, laughter shaking her torso. “I’ll take your word for it, then.”

“Good.” He slings an arm around her shoulders, squeezes _._ “I know all about these things. I _am_ a model, you know.”

She squirms against him, digging fingers into his ribs in punishment, but he still hears it when she breathes a long sigh against his shoulder. “Thanks, Adrien.”

* * *

An _owl_ Akuma. Out of all the possible things in the world, it had to be an _owl_ Akuma.

The thing is damn near silent in flight, so much so that even Chat Noir’s superior hearing can’t help him out. It’s the third time he’s been knocked head over heels by a blow he never knew was coming, and his temper is fraying.

Ladybug lands next to him, reaching out a hand to help him up. “Is something wrong, minou? You seem off today.”

He dodges her hand on purpose, clambering to his feet without help. “Nothing’s _wrong_ ,” he growls, turning his head this way and that, as if it would help. “I just hate being _helpless_!”

“What do you mean?”

He _snarls_ , ignoring the slight squeak that escapes her. “I mean I’m _blind_ , Ladybug. I can’t see that thing coming, and I can’t hear it, and I hate trying to deal with something when I have no idea where it really is! I get enough of that in my normal life!”

She’s silent for a long moment, long enough for him to regret his outburst, and try to think of how he can turn it into a joke. She shifts, clears her throat, and sighs. “We’ll think of something.”

 _She said_ we _, not_ I. _She’s still counting me as her equal._

As it turns out, her Lucky Charm is a bell and ribbon. She seems confused, but he knows what it’s for instantly. On the Akuma’s next pass she manages to tangle the ribbon around its talons. _Finally_ he can hear what he’s aiming at.

It’s the matter of a few seconds to drag the Akuma down after that, and for him to shred the possessed tie takes even less time.

He still dashes off before she’s even purified the butterfly. He’s not in the mood to deal with questions today.

* * *

“It really doesn’t bother you?” he asks on their patrol two nights later, perched on a girder of the Eiffel Tower. He swings his legs out over nothingness, not even pretending to look at his partner.

“What would bother me?”

He’s sharply reminded of a different conversation, but he plows on. “That I’m blind?”

“What?” She sounds genuinely confused. “Why would it bother me?”

He shrugs, kicks his feet just a little harder. He can’t see, but he can _feel_ just how high up they are. It’s in the certain _wildness_ of the air that rushes past his face, unimpeded by the other buildings.

She waits for him to speak for a long minute, and he tenses when he hears the sharp inhale that means her patience has run out. “Chaton, no.”

Her hand is tentative when it rests on top of his own. “No, it doesn’t. Look, one of my best friends is blind. He doesn’t ever let it slow him down. I know you can take care of yourself. You’ve never given me any reason to think you can’t.”

He flinches. “But that owl Akuma—“

“Was just the same as the time Stormy Weather locked us in the dark, and I needed your help,” she says firmly. “We’re partners. We help each other when we need it. And _only_ when it’s needed.”

He turns over his hand, squeezing hers gently. “Thank you, Ladybug.”

She hums and squeezes back.

They sit in comfortable silence for several minutes before a thought occurs to him and he shoots a smile in her direction. “You know, my Lady, I just realized something.”

“Hmm?” As soon as he moved she had leaned away from him, as if she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t, but she collects herself with a deep breath. “What did you realize?”

“You have an unfair advantage when it comes to finding out who I am. You know what I look like.”

She laughs. “Not really, chaton, that’s what the masks are for.”

“Still,” he insists, swinging one leg over the girder to face her. “I don’t know what most people look like. I want to see my best friend’s face, as well as I can.”

She hesitates fractionally, and he’s about to take back his words when—“okay.”

He opens his mouth to explain what he needs, but she’s already raising their still-entwined hands to her face. He falls silent, freezing for a moment.

The gloves actually enhance his sense of touch, and her skin is soft. As soft as Marinette’s. He slides his thumb until he finds the arch of her small nose, then up to the strange material that makes up her mask. He traces the shape of her cheekbones, above her eyes, down until he feels long lashes fluttering against his knuckles.

 _Hang on_.

He keeps going, brings up his other hand to cup her jaw, delicate and round. Finally he runs both thumbs across her lips, plush and petal-soft. Her breath is coming sharp and shallow against his fingers, and when he presses just the slightest bit he can feel her pulse racing rapid under his touch.

Her reaction is so different, but she _feels_ so familiar—

“Marinette?” It’s barely more than a whisper, but she lurches back, squeaking.

“I-i…what…y-you…”

He’s stunned, not even reacting as she scrambles away from him, unable to defend himself as he hears her start to connect the dots.

“But you…how? I…wait. _Adrien_?”

He realizes his jaw is hanging open, and he snaps it shut. “Marinette, you? You’re Ladybug? _You’re_ Ladybug!” He laughs, high and giddy, reaches out for her retreating sounds. “You’re Marinette!”

She stops moving, and even though he can hear her breath on the wind and smell the vanilla in her hair and feel her pulse in the iron beneath them both, he’s grateful when she reaches out and takes his hand.

“I’m…yes. A-and you’re Chat Noir.”

He shrugs, still riding high on his discovery. “I guess so.”

She shakes a bit, scoots tentatively closer. “I…are you disappointed?”

It’s a bit of a stretch but he manages to lean forward until her unsteady exhales fan across his face. “ _Never._ I’d never be disappointed in you, Marinette.” He breathes the name, shivery with the force of his emotions, and she lets out a little whimper.

That’s all the warning he gets before she suddenly collapses forward, arms wrapping around his torso and squeezing hard. He returns the embrace, burying his nose in her hair. They sway slightly in the city breeze, content and safe.

He thinks back to all the conversations he’s had with Ladybug and Marinette, all the clues he’d missed. And then—

“Wait a second!” He leans back, pulls away from her just a bit. “You ship—you ship Ladybug and Chat Noir! You _shipped_ yourself with me!”

A sudden flurry of movement is her burying her face in her hands. “I wouldn’t have told you that if I’d known who you were!”

He grins, leans in to sing-song, “you ship yourself with meee!”

She shoves him back, giggling quietly. “I’m going to push you off this tower.”

He gasps, flops over piteously to lay his head in her lap. “You wouldn’t do that to a poor, blind—“

“Cats land on their feet, you’d be fine.”

They lapse back into silence, and her fingers find their way into his hair. He tries to keep his cool—until she scritches at _just_ the right spot behind his ear, and he arches with a purr.

There’s a slight catch in her breath, and he’s distracted from her wonderful fingers. “Marinette, are you smiling?”

She pauses in her ministrations. “Yes.”

“Can I see?”

She laughs and guides one of his hands up to her lips.


End file.
